Cranky and Steve's Final Adventure

by libertydude

Forever Young

A half-hour deep into the town, Cranky found the settlement to be just as deserted inside as it appeared outside. Even with the sun now slipping beneath the two story buildings, no light emanated from within any windows. The only movement came from the few tumbleweeds blowing by, carried along by the crooning wind snaking through the silent structures.

Not even a dog, Cranky thought, wandering past a building marked as the “Windvane General Store”. Not even a dang cat.

He walked up to the General Store and peered in the windows. Stocks of supplies, from ropes to wheatgrass, lined the aisles, all sitting as if they’d been placed just a few days ago. Cranky pushed in the swinging doors and wandered inside. No dust seemed to appear on any of the items, gathering only upon the floor. Cranky wandered over towards the cashier’s desk, and his eyes shot towards the rack of newspapers sitting underneath the register. Grabbing the latest issue of the Equestrian Grazzette, he looked at the upper left corner, where the date sat next to the headline about a new tinnitus treatment.

Two weeks from today, Cranky thought. He let the newspaper fall to the floor and wandered back outside. A part of him wanted to shout out hello in the street, where anypony could see and hear him. He raised a hoof to his mouth, but stopped. Something inside him prodded his nerves, some deep part of himself he hadn’t noticed for a long time. Part of it was shame; an old donkey like him, scared and hollering his head off in the street of a ghost town? Steven would never let him live it down.

But another part made a prickle of fear inch down his body. If something’s in this town, I don’t want it knowing I’m here, Cranky thought.

After a few more minutes wandering empty streets, he found himself in the city square. A large stage sat in the middle, a circular platform that stood five feet above the ground and with steps on one side. Around the edges of the square were various businesses, from doctors’ offices to saloons. All sat with the same silence as every other building, with only the occasional squeaks from cracked open doors swinging in the breeze.

Off to the side, a well sat by its lonesome. Cranky walked over and peered down it. Faint drops of water echoed throughout the walls, and another grizzled, worn-down donkey stared up at him from the rippling pool below. Cranky looked back at the quiet town.

Maybe they abandoned it, Cranky thought. But an uneasiness still nibbled at him. Why the hoofprints? And the well still being full? And the store still stocked?

That was when Cranky saw the area behind the stage. A long line of homes and businesses stretched onward, with a series of signposts reading “Main Street” and “Pony Plains Spa Resort, Seven Blocks West” with an arrow pointing forward. Peering down the street, Cranky could just make out a white-walled structure sitting at the street’s end. The look reminded Cranky of Saddle Arabian domiciles, hanging low to the ground and covering wide breadths of land. A thick collection of steam rose up from behind the wall, dissipating when it collided with the prairie wind.

Must be the spa, Cranky thought. Looks like Steven was ri-

“Psst!”

Cranky paused. His eyes glanced around, half-expecting an open bottle the wind could be whipping past.

“Psst!” the noise repeated.

He glanced around again, toward the buildings nearest to the well. Just then, he saw the shine in the doorway. An orange stallion, with thick-rimmed spectacles resting over his walrus mustache, motioned toward the old donkey. He looked even older than Cranky, deep wrinkles covering his face and hooves, the latter of which he now frantically shook.

“Get inside!” he hissed at Cranky, pointing up at the now covered sun. “It’s almost dark!”

“What’s going o-?”

“No time! Get in here!” the stallion said once more.

Cranky hesitated for a moment, then dashed off to the elderly stallion. He glanced up at the building’s sign as he ran past: “Windvane Retirement Home”.

He rushed past the stallion and into the swinging doors. He was greeted with the sight of five other ponies, all around the older stallion’s age and with just about the same amount of wear in their skin. All sat in chairs, some of them rocking back and forth.

“What the hay is going on here?!” Cranky said.

The orange stallion slammed the doors. “Be quiet!” he hissed. “He’ll be here any second!”

“What’re you-?”

Just then, a brilliant flash filled the entire room. Cranky closed his eyes and held his hooves up to his face.

“What was that?” he whispered.

The orange stallion grabbed his shoulder and pointed outside the window toward the center square. Cranky’s eyes went wide.

On the platform stood an aged unicorn in a black cloak. His grey mane and tail, both dotted with spots of brown, poked out of the uniform. His mahogany skin seemed to be looser than most other ponies, jiggling with each movement he did. A small grin appeared on his face.

“Arise, my servants!” he bellowed. The voice echoed throughout the walls, enhanced by the azure aura surrounding the unicorn’s throat.

For a few moments, nothing happened. Then the doors of each quiet building began to open, and out came a fresh stream of ponies. They shuffled in a daze, their eyes only half-open. Cranky’s eyes, however, stayed wide as the throng shifted through the spaces between buildings like the Maresouri did for rocks.

Cranky could see all kinds of ponies shuffling into the square. Earth ponies, unicorns, and pegasi alike. Mares, stallions, fillies, colts, young…

But not the old. Cranky glanced back and could see that the elderly ponies hadn’t moved a muscle. They simply cowered back in their sitting chairs, staring away from the scene outside their windows.

“Servants!” The voice drew Cranky back to the square. “The time is near! You must get back to work!”

“Yes, master,” the crowd muttered in perfect synchronization. A shiver went down Cranky’s spine.

“Stay to your tasks! Anypony caught lazing will not receive the Gift!”

“Yes, master,” they repeated.

“Now go!”

The ponies then made their way up the main street, filing towards the spa resort. In the huddled mass, they followed in lines like pieces on an assembly line. One group of stallions hustled next to the stage, a makeshift throne sitting on their backs. The unicorn climbed onto the chair and pointed ahead. The stallions marched forward, the other groups filing in behind them. They walked until they disappeared within the spa gates, which closed with a loud thunk once the last group made their way in.

Cranky turned back towards the figures sitting in the ever increasing darkness. Not a breath had come from them since Cranky’s arrival.

“What the hay was that?!” he said in a low whisper.

None of the ponies looked at him, only staring at the floor or off into empty space.

“Somepony better talk to me!”

The orange stallion twisted in his seat. “Keep your voice down, or he’ll hear you.”

“Who? The bozo in the jacket?”

The stallion nodded. “Bersal. He runs the town now.”

“Why?” Cranky said. “What’s he want with some rinky-dink spa in the middle of nowhere?”

“We don’t know. He just got up one day and hypnotized everypony. Makes them do some kind of work behind the walls all night, then sends them back home in the morning.” The stallion stared at the ground. “He used to be so pleasant…”

“Used?”

“He was my roommate, here at the home. Didn’t say much, kept to himself reading most of the time. None of us were concerned; we mind our business in these parts.” He looked back out the window. “It wasn’t until a few weeks ago when he got...odd. Got all excited and stayed up all night to look at some history documents. Then he just started walking around and hypnotizing everypony.”

“So why are you in here?” Cranky said. “Why hasn’t he zapped you to do any work?”

The orange stallion glanced around. “We’re too old to work. Whatever magic he’s using doesn’t make anypony stronger. That’s why he’s only using young ponies.”

Cranky put a hoof through his toupee. Criminey, he thought. Of all the lousy things to land in.

“Look,” Cranky said. “I’ve got a friend who can get you all out of here. You just have to-“

“No!” the stallion shouted. “Bersal doesn’t let anypony leave! The only reason we’re alive is because we promised not to escape!”

Cranky’s face twisted into shock. “You want to be stuck here? With that lunatic out there turning your neighbors into slaves?”

The stallion looked around the home, from the half-finished checkerboard games sitting near the fireplace to the row of cedar rocking chairs lining the walls. A sad expression crossed his face. “This is our home. We can’t leave it.”

Cranky couldn’t disguise his disgusted face. “Suit yourselves,” Cranky growled. “I’m leaving.” He walked toward the door.

“You can’t!" the stallion called out. "He’ll catch you! You’re still young enough!”

Cranky wanted to laugh. Only in this place can I still be considered “young”.

“I’ll take my chances,” he said. With a quick glance up and down the still-empty streets, he opened the door and set off back toward the docks.